


When This Is All Over

by AnonymousPumpkin



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: (I don't really bring it up), (i guess), Destroy Ending, F/F, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 05:51:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7606141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousPumpkin/pseuds/AnonymousPumpkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The moons set slowly over the colony of Zhu's Hope, quiet and withdrawn. In the wake of the war, they are peaceful and slow. At night, strange singing is heard from the dark buildings, which drifts over to the towers beyond. In the morning, a lone soldier braves the skyway, running as if the ghosts from hell are on her heels.</p><p>A one-shot not nearly as dramatic as its summary, in which a broken woman finds comfort in the mundane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When This Is All Over

**Author's Note:**

> *wants to write a speculative story about the hivemind of the Feros colony and its implications on their life/interpersonal relationships post-war*  
> *wants to write a fluffy story about that comment Shiala made in ME2 and the fact that my first Shepard would totally have taken her up on it*  
> *writes this instead*

As she stopped to catch her breath, Shepard looked back over her shoulder. The sun hadn’t risen yet over the clouds, but the moons bathed the towers with soft light. They still weren’t fully repaired, and most of the artificial lights that once had lit them were dim or simply unlit. She adored it. They were like the fingers of a great hand, curling around her and sparkled blue and silver against the burned gold sky. The clouds were a white sea spreading to the endless horizon, forming fluffy frames around the sunrise. It looked more like a painting than an actual place, so still and peaceful that she was tempted to scream aloud just to remind herself that it was real. Instead she turned away from the breathtaking view, rubbed at her thighs, and started running again. Immediately, she forgot that silly notion she’d had that this wasn’t real. As soon as she began moving, every inch of her body was in pain, and the beauty of the sunrise and its unnerving stillness was forgotten.

She remembered the skyway as being much _much_ shorter. Although, she had to admit that pretty much everything seemed smaller behind the wheel of a Mako. Even fighting the geth, she’d made it across in hardly more than a few minutes. On foot it probably took at least four times that long to go from one end of the bridge to the other...and much longer when you had to stop every few minutes because your body was on the verge of collapse. When she ran she leaned forward, pushing her face into the wind.

The wind rushed past her fast, fast, faster, but not fast enough. It pushed at her chest, giving her something to struggle against, something to _fight._ It was glorious. She pushed with all of her might, and she conquered. The cold bit at her skin and her throat and her lungs. Every breath was a rush of adrenaline, another short burst of energy to get her through until the next. The sound of her feet on the metal was ominous and loud, like the frenzied beating of a war drum, but it was a rhythm regardless, and she needed it. The sky blurred into a messy haze of color, more from the tears in her eyes than from speed.

Her foot touched the end of the skyway, and without missing a beat, she turned on her heel and threw herself in the other direction. As glorious as running against the wind had been, it was nothing like the sweet relief she felt at running along its back. Now it pushed at her and encouraged her and lifted her up. It cooled the sweat that ran down her back until she shivered and ruffled the damp hairs that clung to the back of her neck.

She stopped again, doubling over. She braced her hands on her knees, and stared at the peeling metal beneath her feet, on the faded red of her sneakers, and the strip of skin between the top of her socks and the leg of her pants. It all faded in and out of focus as she struggled for breath, for balance. Her legs shook without moving and her arms felt like they were made of string. Her stomach was in tight, roiling knots. Her head was swimming, overwhelmed by all the stimulus and struggling to free itself from the wriggling darkness of her thoughts. These morning runs were meant to clear her head. Even if she was in so much pain she couldn’t walk, she figured it was better than...the alternative.

When she finally regained the strength to do so, Shepard straightened up and looked across towards her home. The road stretched out in front of her. She still had half the skyway to cover, and suddenly she didn’t want to make the journey. Her legs were tired, barely capable of supporting her weight. Her sides were in such pain that she took only the tiniest, shallowest breaths she could to avoid aggravating them, but her lungs practically screamed for more air. One arm was wrapped around her middle, and the other hung at her side, too heavy to lift. She could feel the blood pumping in her fingertips as her heart struggled. Her amp and spine ached and burned where the metal met her skin, and she rubbed from the base of her skull to the top of her spine a few times. That was one pain she did not relish.

She walked the rest of the way home. The sun was visible by the time she made it to the end of the skyway, and her legs felt like they were going to collapse with every step.

The halls and stairs were empty and desolate. The metal groaned beneath her weight, and every door that opened did so with a reluctant, creaking groan. As she neared the colony, she began to feel that strange pull. It was indescribable and almost primal in nature. It was pulling at her mind, whispering to her, welcoming her. It was only a weak echo in her mind, nothing compared to what the others heard and felt, but it was just enough to shoot her nerves. On one hand, it terrified her. It put her on edge to be constantly aware of the locations of so many other people at once. It was disconcerting when she would suddenly feel a pull at the back of her mind, an emotion not her own trying to drag her into its throes. On the other hand...it was a feeling of togetherness, a feeling of belonging she hadn’t known before. The constant weight at the back of her skull was a welcome distraction. Even with all its weird quirks, being hooked into the weird post-Thorian hivemind of Zhu’s Hope was the most comforting thing that could’ve happened to her.

Well... _one_ of the most comforting things.

No one was out and about yet when she slipped back in the main settlement, save one guard who sat dozing off on a crate. He looked up when she entered and, though she’d told him not to, immediately stiffened and saluted her as she passed. He had been military before coming here, and old habits apparently died very hard. She would never give up insisting he treat her like anybody else, and she assumed he would never give up worshipping her like everyone else outside the colony. Although nothing moved or made a sound, she could hear the buzzing at the back of her mind that told her at least one of the original colonists was awake.

She practically stomped onto her own front step, and winced at the loud groan of the metal. Thankfully, the door was quieter, and she slipped in without (she hoped) disturbing anyone.

The house was very small and surprisingly minimal, considering who lived there. When she’d first proposed she move in, she’d honestly expected that she’d be put out in a week for leaving toy ships or stray clips or issues of Fornax lying around to trip someone in the narrow corridor of the refurbished storage building. She’d surprised herself. She’d kept the ships and nothing else. She had no need for thermal clips anymore; she had one weapon in the house, and she’d never needed to reload it. And as for the Fornax...well, she’d learned to keep it out of the way. Sometimes Greta brought her little daughter over to play, and Shepard didn’t want to be known as _that_ aunt.

She paused in the doorway, looking around and savoring the familiar sight of everything. Her chest felt a bit lighter, and her mouth twitched in what was almost a smile. She was fond of this house to the point of obsession. It had gone from a salvaged shell to a true _home_ , and not just because they’d added a few more rooms and actual working pipes. She was in love with it. She loved the kitchen, barely big enough for four people to stand shoulder to shoulder, decorated with dark colors and floral designs, always smelling faintly of spices and ice. She loved the little dining room table, four chairs and only three legs, always spotless except for that one stain in the far corner. She loved the lack of chairs and abundance of large bean bags (she loved a little bit less the hell that said bean bags wreaked on her hips and spine). She loved how small it was, how intimate and physically present it forced her to be with her guests, with her wife, with her daughter.

She peeked into the bedroom; it was still and dark. She spent a good five minutes standing perfectly still in the hall, waiting. She took a deep breath and held it in, and she listened. Deep, steady breathing, a restless sleeping murmur, the faint snores of the cat. _All is well._ When Shepard released her breath, she also released a heavy weight she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her hands, which had curled into fists without her realizing, relaxed, fingers shaking and pounding.

 _All is well_ , she repeated in her head, though somehow it didn’t sound nearly so convincing in her own voice.

She slid past the bedroom door, which she’d left slightly ajar when she’d snuck out hours earlier, and slipped into the bathroom. It was a cramped space as well, and though it had been almost nine years and she really should have known better by now, she still hit every possible thing it was possible to hit. Her elbow caught a bottle of soap, sending it clattering to the floor, and she froze, listening in paralyzed terror for the sounds of someone waking up. There was a rustle of blankets...then silence. She let out a slow breath of relief, and went about her routine. She pulled off her shirt, dropped it in the corner behind the door. Turned on the water, a bit too cold. She took off her pants. She let her hair down. She stepped into the shower, and was immediately woken up by a shock of cold water.

_All is well._

Every morning it was the same. She went out to run early, sometimes only a few hours after going to bed. She came home on legs that could barely carry her weight and lungs that could barely get air. She came home to a silent house (most days) and slipped into the bathroom unhindered (usually). She took a shower as cold as she could take it (which was pretty damned cold), and came out of the bathroom to--

“Good morning,” they said, almost in sync.

Shepard took two steps and Shiala met her halfway. Their lips met briefly, and the kiss was sweetened by the smiles playing at the edges of their mouths. Shepard tasted like soap, Shiala like black coffee. They lingered in the embrace a few seconds longer than was practical, fingers gripping wrists and chests pressed together. They slid awkwardly apart, all bumping elbows and soft breathless laughs as if this was their first morning together instead of their three thousandth. The giddy joy of having found something so simple and precious in spite of all that had happened had yet to fade, bubbling up anew every morning.

“My turn for breakfast?” Shepard asked.

“Of course.”

In spite of that agreement, the two of them cooked together, as they always did. At first, breakfast _had_ been a solo affair, but now whose “turn” it was only suggested whose home cuisine they ate. After the first few extremely late meals, they agreed that most of the traditional meals they preferred to cook were probably two-person jobs. It was a well-practiced dance they had now. The entire house warmed up, and the silence was broken by the sound of popping oil, boiling water, the sharp _thunk!_ of knives against cutting boards. They exchanged plates, knives, breaths, kisses, and pans as fluidly and easily as if they had done it all their lives. Every brush of their fingers was another burst of happiness, of bliss. Several times Shepard threw the symphony into chaos by stopping and kissing Shiala on her cheek or chin or whatever part of her happened to be closest.

Shepard breathed deeply as she worked. The smell of rice, of broth, of ginger, lulled her into memories of a time far before Reapers and geth and loss. She remembered standing at her mother’s elbow, reaching up with bold fingers to grab bits of food before it was ready under the pretense of helping. Every now and then she would catch a glimpse of the colony outside their kitchen window. People moved about with speed but without urgency. She knew the name and history of every person who walked by, just as intimately as they knew her name and her history. Very little ever happened that was unexpected or out of the ordinary. Life was uncomplicated, simple...it was peaceful. It was calming for her, she who couldn’t hear a knock in a pipe without reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there, she who still had dreams of dark landscapes and the lips of the dead at her ear. The quiet and the monotony of going at her life and going through her routine every day without change, was comforting.

_All is well._

By the time the sun lit the kitchen through multi-colored windows and Aesia stumbled sleepily through the door, they were finished. She slid into the nearest chair, grumbling unhappily when Shepard displaced her to take her own spot beside the rice pot. It took her only a few moments to wake up fully. Within minutes, the silence was gone and the kitchen was filled with her excited chattering, telling her mothers everything about her visit the day before with her friends. She described everything in perfect detail, every minute of the day. She had a charming ability to enunciate every word clearly, even around mouthfuls of rice and broth, which made Shepard feel a little silly for always scolding her for talking with her mouth full.

“…and then _she_ said she’d never seen a _green_ asari before, and I told _her_ she’d only ever seen asari on vids, and those asari don’t count! Everyone knows only _blue_ asari are on the vids! Mama, pass me water please?”

“Of course, dear.” Shiala’s mouth was thin with barely concealed amusement, and she met Shepard’s eyes briefly over their daughter’s head. They shared a smile and went back to breakfast. When they were finished eating, Shepard cleaned up, an apology for vanishing in the early hours of the morning. Not that Shiala had ever demanded an apology. Which, perhaps, was exactly why Shepard was doing it.

It was something to do with her hands, something methodical and mechanical that very rarely hurt her and very rarely made loud noises and very rarely drowned out the sounds of Shiala and Aesia in the living room, watching cartoons. Aesia's high-pitched giggle was audible above the running water, and the sound made some part of Shepard she'd thought long dead flutter and warm. She could still remember the day she'd been born. She'd thought that the wonder would fade, but it hadn't. It had been nearly a decade, and Shepard was still just as enchanted as she had been that first moment.

She joined them on the couch when she was done washing up, pulling Aesia into her lap. She scoffed and moaned and declared she was too old for that kind of thing, but settled comfortably even as she complained. She laughed loudly and threw crumbs at the screen when the show didn't go her way. She did this every morning, despite the fact that, due to their relative isolation in the galaxy, they only got new episodes about twice a month.

A shadow in the corner of the room flickered, reaching for the child in her lap. Shepard wrapped her arms around her, squeezed her until the buzzing in her head stopped. She didn't look directly at the intruder; that would only scare it away, and then it would come back. She stared straight ahead, at the dizzying colors of the cartoon vorcha, holding her daughter to her chest as if they would both die if she didn't.

"Mommy, you're  _crushing_ me!"

She held on a second longer, laughed, and let go. "Sorry, baby...Mommy's just...really tired."

She wrinkled her nose, putting on that indignant expression that Shiala claimed was from her grandfather. "Well, maybe you should go take a nap then instead of squeezing my brains out," she suggested with all the uppity confidence of an eight-year-old.

"Aesia!"

" _What_! Mama, she really  _was_ squeezing my brains out!"

They bickered good-naturedly for only a few minutes, and then mutually they all calmed. They settled down until the program was over, humming along absently to a tune that was not quite music.

"I love that show." Aesia announced as the credits rolled. "I think it's the best show in the whole world. No, in the whole _galaxy_. In the whole  _universe_." She continued to sing its praises as she was sheperded into the bathroom to get ready for school, and on the entire walk there.

"...the happiest show in the world. Mama always says the galaxy could use a bit more happiness...or did she say hope-y-ness?" She shrugged, waving absently to the workers they passed. Shepard met their eyes briefly, and smiled. It still felt awkward and unpracticed, but no one ever said anything. They dipped their heads, smiled back, called out to Aesia if they could.

The school was in the colony proper, and Shepard couldn't escort her the whole way. All the children of Zhu's Hope took the skyway across, in a little buggy that handled much less smoothly than the Mako, probably for good. Shepard was probably the only mother who insisted on walking her daughter all the way there, but no one ever brought it up.

Aesia left her with a too-tight hug around her knees. "I'll come back alive," she promised, far too solemnly, and Shepard watched her go until the buggy vanished in the horizon.

It was a strange promise to make...but one Shepard appreciated. Aesia had picked it up from everyone else, who had learned without ever asking that it was the only thing Shepard ever really needed anymore.

She walked back home at a glacial pace, stopping to have half-spoken conversations along the way. Only once did her hand fly to her hip, at the sound of a metal rod falling against the brick. Macha was immediately at her side, lacing her fingers through the hand that was reaching for her gun, pulling her away to look at the garden she'd set up. Beneath her words was a low hum at the base of Shepard's skull, a static-y wave that drowned the moment of panic. When the moment passed, she was released, and sent back home with a stern directive to get some rest, and a heartfelt promise that Macha would still be alive when she came out again. She came home to find Shiala in bed again, and wasted no time joining her. She had little else to do, after all.

Shepard loved Zhu's Hope, far more than she would have thought she could have. Despite the ever-growing activity of the colony, it was slow. Despite the extreme temperatures, the still-rickety infrastructure, and the overbearing ExoGeni officials, it was comfortable. Despite the near-constant chatter of their daughter, the grind of machinery, and the hum of the shields, it was quiet. She felt a comforting weight at the back of her head, drowning out the whispers she still sometimes swore she heard, and when her skin began to pick and burn, Shiala’s hand covered hers, warm and knowing. And if she wasn’t around, someone else took her place, less intimately, but no less affectionately. A casual brush against her shoulder, a small smile over busy hands. Just enough to keep her going.

The day passed on like every other before it. After breakfast, she took Aesia to school, and spent the afternoon cleaning, reading, lounging in Shiala’s arms. In the evening, when it was cooler, she went out and helped with perpetual repairs and building that went on around the colony, which continued to thrive and grow despite the relative chaos of the galaxy. At sunset, Shepard squirreled herself away in the broadcast tower, sending and receiving messages to those members of her crew it was still possibly to contact. To those it wasn’t, she sent up prayers, wishes, warm thoughts. She would meet them again, one day, she knew…but not today.

Tomorrow morning she would wake up too early and she would run the skyway, and return to make dinner with her wife. She would listen to her daughter relate the story of the previous day, and then she would take her to school. She would spent the afternoon at home, the evening at work. She would go to bed, rise early, begin it all again. But for now, she supposed, she would just rest.

Shiala held her tighter, pressed tender lips to her forehead. She smelled of growing things and damp earth, of metal and filtered water. Her fingers, neither gentle nor soft, tangled with Shepard's as readily as if it were their bodies, or their minds, until they were indistinguishable from one another. A ripple of biotic energy passed over their bodies. Shepard laid her head down, closed her eyes. She saw no fire, no bodies, no doom. She saw only darkness.

“All is well,” Shiala said, as she said every night, every morning, every afternoon. “All is well.”

All was well.


End file.
